Two simple words that shattered his heart.
She'd arrived at Wolfram and Heart, looking for one of her new Slayers. He'd
found her talking with Angel. He'd blushed, not having told her he was alive,
but she'd simply answered with those two words. She knew.
Fred had told Willow, who'd told Buffy. And she didn't even call.
Happy bloody new year. He lifted his glass in salute to himself and his
miserable excuse of an existence. He was so sick and tired of it all.
Caring, love, hope...
You can grab whatever you want, but you never get to keep it.
He'd known she'd lied, he knew she hadn't loved him. So why did it hurt so
damn much to have it confirmed by her actions? There had just been that
small part of his heart still holding on to hope, still wishing, somehow, that she'd
at least cared. That there had been something, anything.
Guess he'd been wrong on that as well.
She knew, she'd known he was back. But she'd been busy , she said. Travelling
the world, happy to be in the sunlight. Too busy to even pick up the phone. Guess
he'd been too much of a bother now that he'd dared to return from the beyond. Couldn't
just give it a rest and get it over with, now could he. Had to mess it all up for her, again.
The bartender threw him a hard look, but he didn't give a fuck , and threw a few quid
down on the tabletop in front of him. Enough to get him severely and utterly under it
before the night was over. Someone grabbed his arm, and he pulled back growling,
barely able to keep from saying grrr.
Gunn scowled at him, and told him to go home. He refused.
The empty halls of Wolfram and Heart? Fred's lab? Angel's desk with a couple
of files for a pillow?
They all made his name sound like a curse, something said in exasperation.
Anger, disappointment. As if they all expected him to screw up any moment
now. To do something stupid, to hurt someone, to be bad. Couldn't a bloke
get pissed in peace anymore?
Charlie threatened to drag him out. He liked Charlie, he really did. But this
was so not the time.
Buffy had known and she hadn't even called.
Charlie ordered them both something to drink. He'd always known the boy was
a bit alright.
He didn't care. He refused to. He wasn't sure what shit came out of his
mouth after that. Buffy, the way she looked, the way she sounded, the way
she felt under his hands as he touched her just there... He talked endlessly,
how he'd fallen, deep, endlessly. How she'd...
He'd gotten another drink or two, or three...
And then he... Oh God he should have just staked himself after seeing them
again. After she'd broken his heart all over again, just seeing them in the
same room together. He'd broken out sobbing, his face on the table,
demanding another beer to forget the memory.
Of the two ...
He told Charlie all of it, the loving, the hurting, the soul...
And Charlie, good boy that he was, ordered him another drink.
Watching her kiss old captain Forehead then had been bad enough. Watching
her do it again... The big brooding piece of...
And another drink.
It's never enough, now is it?
Loving them, caring...
No matter what he did, it was never enough.
What did He have, that he missed?
And he spat it all out, all the venom, all the hatred. A century of
resentment, of losing it all over and over again. Hating every second of
it, knowing he was making an ass of himself to the one person in his new
life, besides Fred, that he could actually stand.
Acting all broody and stiff like Hairboy.
Worse, he was acting like William.
Angel with his ugly and hair and that mug and...
He barely even remembered what happened after that. Half of it had to be a
dream. He didn't respond when Charlie finally packed him up and dragged him
to the car. He' been drowsy, ready to go down. But even he wasn't foolish
enough to believe that that short caress over his face was anything other
than a dream. That anyone had actually tugged him under on a couch.
And that anyone had really whispered the words.
"It'll be alright."
He sobbed as he fell asleep.